Dream Diary
by Cricket and Bad Wolf
Summary: Occasional AU. Taking the game, tearing it apart. I like to take a lighter version of the game ending because I'm special like that.
1. Plus One

Who writes when they're supposed to be working? Cricket does!

Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuume attacked my brain when Cricket was probably supposed to be learning about farm circles, Hinduism, or the Slovak language. Unless it was the genocide in Africa or watching Bend it Like Beckham. What a horrible movie.

* * *

><p>The sheer irrationality of such an act rang through his ears making him deaf and dumb to the rest of their little world.<p>

"No"

He saw the scratches she blamed on her cat.

"Please"

He saw the bruises she blamed on crashing into walls on those long restless nights she spent thinking of him.

"Listen to me"

Those god-forsaken cuts and hellish winding scars under those long bubblegum top sleeves and short licorice skirt, but he never knew it would come to this. She begged him every passing dawn and fleeting dusk just for one

Simple

Song but no, he would have none of that because those emotions, that girl was much too much to handle. He tossed her into the cold wet embrace-caress-of a starved night and farther from the long trek into the depths of his frigid, unforgiving, black heart.

She loved him from the time her world began-at least as far back as she could remember-he was the first smile-fake or not she didn't know-playful dark hair and deep emotional eyes that sung her immediately love-struck; so she would love him until the end.

Was this it?

This wavering illusion of this world within this man, though was never very giving she lived for it. He took unrequited affections and delicious inspiration from anyone and everyone (but her of course, she was too far away, too painful) and made their music his. Stolen notes from those figments of their imagination? They could never be sure, maybe it was just them two, god, they had been there so damn long they didn't know if they were still real-or ever were in the first place-human or not.

And he drank it all in; liquid gold for a wondering soul.

And when the others became the wiser of his games? His thievery? They left him, as beaten and bruised as that girl who loved him so.

The girl she loved the man who knew not of love, and the man who wanted nothing to do with it.

But together? Together at last? Could it be? Was this real?

Touches, they sizzled.

Kissed, they sparked.

Strings tangled and pure electricity ran though the spaces between them and abused skin lightning-fast as expected and in their greatest dreams this never happened. So maybe they were dreaming, as long as it stayed this good-this perfect-it was okay.

They were allowed to break the rules they had set for themselves. Her tears, loving ones-the only way she could express how deeply she loved him because words and actions did nothing anymore, just raw naked emotion really spoke truth-stained her freckled face and her hair (soft as clouds…) caressed his face just barely and his deep and somehow delicate, feathery speech rumbled, honeyed by her presence.

They danced in their own personal thunderstorm, absorbing everything the other had to offer, to present, to give…

Selfish and selfless.

Invincible and utterly vulnerable in the same heartbeat, the same single second that lasted hours upon coveted hours.

The best of all contradictions in the purest of moments in the bittersweet moonlight.

And this.

This now.

What was this?

Were these tears? Real tears rolling down his face?

Clinging to his eyebrows as if afraid to take the plunge…

She stood on the balcony of that too-tall apartment building-her favorite place- looking down at the man so far down below jostled by faceless renderings of their imagination-her favorite sight-so that's what it was now. Imagination.

But was this it?

Was there absolutely nothing left he could possibly do?

That terrifying wind gusting, flitting her clothes about roughly, her hair licking and kissing her salt-stained face and immediately he was envious, that was his job to love every piece and part of her, not the winds. His heart jumped

"oh.. oh no..."

His heart jumped, body immediately attacked by overwhelming emotion-emotion! So maybe these were tears. Yes, those hard sobs and kept-away sadness now racked his chest and disposition.

This.

Threat of her.

This threat by her.

"This is all for you.." her eyes seemed so happy so far up. "This, all because I love you."

Her tears hit him like bullets, literally and figuratively.

Cracking his expression.

"I hate to see you cry."

Seeping into the cracks of his heart that thing, that elusive thing, vague and indefinable feeling of which he was not used to in a place he thought to be hollow. The organ which so many speak so well of, the one that breaks thousands of times a day, he believed to be frozen-over, dead, and gone was aching, starting at that slow beat-because he felt it now-to an instant pounding, this act as a swift spark of life, of love, of reality.

And he now knew he did not want her like this. He didn't want her to slip into the hypothermia that tried to consume his soul and mind; she broke him out of it! It wasn't fair! She was... she was more than a simple girl. Much, much more than an unadorned friend. He smiled into those ocean-deep eyes of hers.

She could simply not disappear-impossible! Improbable!-to harm herself beyond the extent of a body, eminent and feasible return such as a heart-love?-can. Because she of all things-yes, yes of everything-was human. True feelings of love, of regret, of shamelessness passion, of hurt, of pure happiness, and of regret all over again were there and hanging in the space between her at that terrace and him down below on the busy street.

"I would like to die now." Her words cut deeper than the knives she took to herself ever would.

"Don't leave me." This voice unrecognizable to his own; what was going on?

"Hey sillyhead, I'm just dreaming," a soft laugh that gave him shivers. "and once I die here, I'll always be dreaming right? And my sillyhead won't ever stop loving me." Curse her perfect reasoning.

"Please."

This was so unlike him, to beg. To want this feeling-even the fear-anything positively anything to last just to prove it could.

This wondrous dream of hers would cease to be the second that monitor stopped chirping in that snow-white hospital ward, and they knew that. The simple job of slipping seemed all the more possible from her lovely, lofty perch in the clouds.

A new-born bird preparing to fly.

And all the more, preparing to die.

That pure poetry-reality, truth-came quickly, spiking her heart-rate and the nurses, just this final time, grudgingly turned their heads and walked away wishing that girl a pleasant afterlife as she slipped, falling, flying into his open and lovely arms. Diving headfirst into that lovely kiss of something more than death. More than the never-ending illusion she wished of so.

"Madeline?"

Light spring air kiss your eyelids open. That was your name.

"Yes?" how long had it been since you have heard a voice? Your own voice?

And was this..?

Yes this was!

It is him, that face you had come to know so well. You will your arms to envelop the one you cannot touch.

"ssh, don't move." A sweet tone you recognize; he only uses it for you.

"Michael?" that sound barely leaves your throat and you're lightheaded and surprised you even managed to see him clearly.

"Yeah…" oh that smile, that slight almost unnoticeable twitch against the corner of his mouth, but those eyes tell you much more. Those eyes smiled; those eyes smile for you.

"Am I dreaming?"

"Not anymore." Laughter? Was he really laughing? This was serious, well to you at least…

"What happened?" you swallow at the sandpaper in your throat trying to keep your focus just on him but it's hard, you're very tired.

"Maddy.. we.. you've been in a coma for almost six months" no please all you want is that happy voice to say sweet things. "We.. we ran out of options, god I feel.. I shouldn't be telling you this but.. we," those bright eyes closed and all you want is to see them again, in all their sparkling glory. "we had to pull the plug."

His candy-pink tongue snaked out and wet his lips ever-so softly and you want nothing more than to tell him that it's all okay, that you're hear now and all he could ever do was good.

But now you know, that dream, that dream you have now left it for a much more lucid, concrete world.

"Emm?" oh there was that smile. "Welcome back to the world of the living."


	2. Sm 74581359958040

Dreams. Oh, us dreams. Painful occasionally, we are woven deep within time and space, Dreams make everything easier. Contrary to common belief, your dreams are not unique to you. There are many of us, who willingly give up, and away our identities to become your friends. Changing with your mood and age, we are the same ones each time, shifting our face and voice to amuse you. Actually, we make up a small part of you. Representing pieces of you, your past, and your future. Sometimes, we may hurt you. We are sorry to see you upset, but we must. Personality adjusts; she always loved you. Incidents add as you grow older, multiplying in severity and complexity. Love grows stronger, united with Desire, they mingle, fluctuating and But I am the same. Each of us shares something with you. Your hair. Your face. Your smile. Your laugh. Your body. I am Humanity. I am you. Your eyes. I own your eyes; yet you do not notice this. Our similarities differ only slightly. Mine are deeper, deeper because these eyes have lived your entire life. They hold your future and past, much too much for you to process in your fragile age. My love for you is selfish, this much is true, as is all of our love. You shall never be refused by us. We will give to you, everything, and nothing. We give to you, our faces and our honest lives, our humanity. The slightest of it you see, because if all the world ceased to dream, so would we. So as in turn, we need you as much as you need us. And I need you now more than ever. Help. The man awoke, brushing his thick hair from his eyes. He gasped, seemingly excited.. it faded, as if he had expected something more. Or possibly, something less. Either way, what he wanted, was not there.

The he tottered around the room, now fresh out of bed, muttering softly to himself. His eyelashes fluttered, and he pushed up his useless glasses. The dark frames did absolutely nothing for his sight; actually, it made his horrid vision worse. At least they made him presentable. If you were kind enough to discount his sickly skin and the tiny, skinny way his body was shaped. If you cared enough to overlook the dark rings that clouded his beautiful, sorrowful eyes, hidden behind him unkempt jet hair, he glanced out the main window wistfully, "Amai yume," ("Sweet dreams,") His white fingers clenched together into a fist and he smiled bitterly. "I make no sense." he sat himself in a chair, looking around the room he knew so well, rather bored. The room where there were no more than five colours. white. black. grey. a darker grey. blue.. Even the television, which was new, only broadcast in simple, painful black-and-white. Give-or-take, his life was monochromatic. Only thing in this house that was blue were his eyes, and the passionate night sky, threatening to swallow the puny struggling stars. A tiny mewl came from across the room. A small white tabby with a raccoon-decorated black face, peered from behind a heap of clothes. Dirty nonetheless, apparently he was much too busy doing nothing-nothing being everything in his opinion-to clean. What good what that do? Well, the girl always cleaned. Menacingly, but she did so. The only friend besides the Girl-and this cat, who was too much like himself in his own opinion-just, worsened the mess, tracking it in from wherever he came, in every way he could. Obviously, this was not his fault, but nonetheless, he was inwardly pushed to remove his friend from the house with a stiff handshake, and a warm wave goodbye. Nothing more. Even when he tried, the other gave nothing more. Until her, they hadn't spoken for months. Which was where the Girl and the cat fit perfectly.

Truthfully, they were just there one day, talking and laughing at things that weren't really funny, but it was nice to hear a voice besides his own, a sweet, nice replacement to the forlorn other. The girl, well into her late teens, possibly even twenties, her auburn hair pulled into double braids, her eyes hazel; brightly mimicking her hair with a small tinge of colour: This was new. The colours were new. She was new. He thought and thought, and decided: he liked new. Her long-sleeved shirt was delightfully bright in colour; this was new and when asked what it was, he received a spitefully confused, "Pink." There was a small window artfully painted onto the chest of her garment. Her skirt was an equally brilliant colour; deeper, darker than her bubblegum top.. "And that colour is..?" "Purple you retard." "That, is not a nice word." he noted quietly, pushing up his glasses with two fingers of his slender right hand, deciding to let the Girl pass.

She has, since then, became a frequent, chipper companion; if she got what she wanted. She has gotten older as well. She has also stopped coming. She used to clean. She has also stopped coming. And she left that blasted animal here of all places-no, he did not mean that. Nevertheless, the house was a mess, like his hair, except not as dark.

His friend has tried to clean in her absence, but he was not good. Not good like the girl had been..

Where was she..?

There never was really an answer, just a simple, evading, "You have me now, not to worry."

And after countless times, he had settled on his dirty house.

Something nibbled his toes; the cat. Thank goodness. Who knows what could be lurking in the plain, menacing black-and-white?

Oh.. Wait.. Nothing.

Something about that was more frightening than a comfort. The tabby heaved her small frame onto the man's lap, and he smiled at her, "Still wanna be me Window, girl?" The animal tilted its head as if confused. "Still wanna leave me Window-Girl?"

It hissed, reaching to claw at his face-oh, just as she had, they were too much alike-, but easily he pulled back. Easily it was avoided, and the cat flew from his lap in defense, springing to the piano.

Aah, the piano. His love, because other loves leave. Other loves die, disappear, hate, forget.. forget..

("Forget")

His eyes trembled delicately as he removed himself from his, comparatively, rather boring chair. He gazed at the instrument's glistening, glamorous keys. How he loved those keys and their fantastic sounds.

He could always depend on it to be there. Could always depend on it to play in the same voice day in and day out. It was not as if it could leave-was he keeping it prisoner? Possibly but such thoughts as melancholic as so.. well they would ruin the lover's appeal. But when was a lover's appeal not melancholic? Not bittersweet..?

He slid onto its bench, with an amorous tinge to his expression, he ran his fingers slowly, softly about its music-making stairs. He pushed his stark fingers against them, beautiful sound.. leaking.. He smiled, familiar notes making his pallid face glow.. His eyes then fell with his expression.

How lovely. How ugly. What memories, no?

Again he was whispering to himself-what a nasty habit-, in an incoherent blather which mattered to none but him. "Wouldn't it be nice if dreams weren't forgotten..?" he softly asked the cat. It purred, nuzzling into the crook of one of her legs. "Eh Window-Girl..?" he smiled, scratching between her ears. "Wouldn't it be nice to be remembered?" He laughed, pulling his hand back. "But that's not what we're for, now is it?" he grimaced, putting up the most disgusted face he possibly could.

Breaking up the most protective wall he could. "We're supposed to help," he spat "We're supposed to protect," he snapped "To love! To care!" he slammed his fists onto the once beloved keys; that's how everything was, Once Beloved. The room lurched. Everything was still; everything was on edge. Cautiously, he began to play the correct theme of passage. "Koko ga kimi no tadoritsuta basho." ("This is the place you have reached.") His face pulled together dispersedly. "Koko ga boku no tadoritsuta basho." ("This is the place I have reached.") His eyes.. t-they stung w-with.. "N-nani..?" ("W-What..?") The tiny salt droplets fled down his face vigorously and his world, in its simple colour, slothfully, turned black, and for the worse.

end.


End file.
